


you're gonna live forever in me

by zoeyclarke



Category: The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Ghost Dani, Haunted Houses, One Shot, She's a ghost, Touch-Starved, aka the one where jamie is like "yeah i'll fall in love with a ghost and what about it", and the kids pop in for like two seconds, background owen/hannah - Freeform, i don't think it counts as major character death but yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28798062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoeyclarke/pseuds/zoeyclarke
Summary: “Sometimes,” Jamie says softly, “I really feel like I was born in the wrong time.”Dani’s smile is unusually serene. “Yeah, but... we still met anyway, didn’t we?”(Or: Jamie buys an old house, expecting it to be just a routine renovate-and-sell. She doesn't plan on falling in love with a ghost along the way.)
Relationships: Dani Clayton/Jamie
Comments: 40
Kudos: 217





	you're gonna live forever in me

**Author's Note:**

> something similar to this idea has probably been written already, but oh well. here's my take on bly as a different kind of romantic ghost story. i'll be honest, i really didn't consider the "major character death" tag until i was actually getting ready to publish this, but i don't think it counts here, since dani has been... uhh... not alive for a while by the time this story takes place. just be aware that yeah, she is unfortunately dead in this fic. but mind the "angst with HAPPY ending" tag :)
> 
> so yeah, i have a whole long and messy list of damie AUs i'd like to write, and after finishing my longer multichap for them, this idea is the one that struck my fancy first. it is very loosely inspired by bly manor's sister show, hill house, which literally just means i borrowed a few minor details from it. so no worries, there's no need to watch that in order to understand this.
> 
> a few songs that inspired me during the writing of this are "you're gonna live forever in me" by john mayer (which is also what the title is taken from), "c u" by benee (this is the song jamie listens to at one point in the story), and "stay" by rihanna (if you know, you know, lol) anyways... thanks for clicking on this, and i hope you like it. good health and much love to all y'all <3

Jamie doesn’t expect much when she buys the old manor. She anticipates minor dilapidation, some type of pest or bug infestation, and a jungle where the garden used to be. It’s supposed to be a quick rehab project, and one where she will cut costs by fixing up the landscaping herself. It isn’t meant to last any longer than six to eight weeks. Then she will be hightailing it back to England well in time for Christmas, or else her older brother will kill her (more likely than not with a pair of gardening shears, her own tool of passion).

However, from the moment her truck pulls onto the long driveway leading to the building, an uneasy feeling sits heavy in the pit of Jamie’s stomach. She cautiously taps the gas pedal, keenly aware of gravel crunching under the tires and nibbling at the pickup’s white painted flanks. With every second she approaches the house, it seems to double in size, adding on new rooms and wings before her eyes. 

By the time the truck grunts to a halt, Jamie realizes that she  _ might  _ have bitten off more than she can chew— wait, no, that’s the wrong spirit. Sure, this is definitely one of her bigger projects, but there’s nothing she and her team haven’t been able to handle before. Jamie has rehabbed all kinds of properties all throughout New England, nursing half-rotted greenhouses back to full health and restoring old homes to pristine condition. She hasn’t seen a failure yet, and she doesn’t plan on breaking that streak now. 

She originally came to America to reconnect with her younger brother who was separated from her and her older brother in childhood by the foster care system. Jamie didn’t plan on chickening out of finding him, nor did she plan on falling in love with the small-town, New England charm— but she did. With her flower shop in London having closed down, she took the easy opportunity to relocate. A lot of time and effort has led up to her driving here to Massachusetts and taking on this job, so there’s no going back now.

Jamie kicks open the door and hops out of the truck, not taking her eyes off of the immense structure in front of her. She’s grateful she had the foresight to get here early in the morning, because this way she can maximize how much daylight she gets to view the place today. It can’t be any later than six-thirty in the morning, the sun only just settling over the horizon, but the manor still gives off a vibe that would be perfectly paired with  _ “Turn Back Now”  _ and  _ “Go Away!”  _ signs. It’s an impression that will only be accentuated come nightfall. 

But with her extra daylight, Jamie is able to realize that this might have been a happy place once. She stands there scanning over all the windows hidden behind crooked shutters, her eyes following the dips and rises in the lines of vintage architecture. Jamie can see something different about the house, something promising, something that gives it a second chance in her mind before she even walks through the front doors.

There must be  _ something  _ good inside there. And whatever it is, Jamie will find it.

She leans back into the truck to fetch her bags. She always makes a point of staying in the properties she fixes up, just so she can get a proper feel of the place, and in the hopes of understanding what past and future inhabitants saw and will see in it. Of course this means that there have been a few times where Jamie ended up huddled in a sleeping bag in a cobweb-studded hallway, or had no choice but to sleep in her truck due to incessant leaking after a rainstorm. But it’s always been worth it in the end.

Jamie shuts the driver’s door then locks it, just in case. She’s surrounded by quiet woods for several acres— a solitude that is  _ much  _ appreciated, because she does not miss the bustle of city life— but she can never be too sure if an overzealous bear or moose might happen upon her truck and mistake it for a fridge full of food. There is also a caretaker couple who lives on the grounds, but Jamie doesn’t know much about them other than that they’re “nice.” Maybe  _ too  _ nice, Jamie thinks, because when it comes to living things that are not plant-based, she is a bit cynical.

Her key turns in the front door’s lock with surprising ease. When she pushes open the door it makes a sound like a sigh, as if it’s relieved to no longer be holding in the house’s stifling, dusty air from the outside world. 

Just as Jamie assumed upon her arrival, the manor is in poorer condition than she expected it would be. Nothing impossible to fix, but it’s a case where every single room will need time, attention, and care, and with the number of rooms, this could easily take upward of six months. “Shit,” Jamie mumbles, crouching down and running her hand over termite-gnawed baseboards. 

After dropping her bags in the foyer, she continues wandering from room to room, taking notice of every last detail as her grimace worsens. Chipped paint in one room, peeling wallpaper in the next. Gouged wooden floors on the first level, crusty stained carpet upstairs. The one saving grace is that the plumbing, by some miracle, functions. She had been promised that the caretakers would make sure the place had running water, and thankfully they followed through with it. 

Jamie chooses a bathroom that is the least of all evils, and tests the shower in it. It takes a good five minutes to get hot water, but it eventually gets there,  _ and _ this particular bathroom has a gorgeous marble shower stall as an added bonus. Maybe this place isn’t so cursed after all.

* * *

That evening, she is invited to dinner at the caretakers’ little cottage on the edge of the property. Jamie doubts the occasion calls for formal attire (as if she brought anything of the sort), so after spending the entire day surveying the grounds, she hikes a mile down a pockmarked local road to the cottage, still dressed in her well-loved overalls and a bandana tying her curls back to keep them out of her face in the summer heat.

She hasn’t been in the caretakers’ house two minutes before Jamie decides she actually quite likes them. Owen and Hannah are exceedingly kind, welcoming Jamie into their humble abode like they have known her for years. Their little home is packed with possessions, things shoved into bookshelves and decorating the walls; but each thing seems to matter, seems to have a purpose in being there, in a way that makes the space feel the opposite of cluttered.

Owen is an excellent chef, and Hannah is a remarkable storyteller, her polite laughter the perfect accompaniment to Owen’s boisterous charisma. Though Jamie enjoys their company, she does have a harmless ulterior motive for being their guest tonight rather than driving into the nearby village to pick up dinner.

“So what can you tell me about the house?” Jamie asks about halfway through the meal. At this point she’s secure in the feeling of mutual trust, after spending the first hour exchanging details about where in England they all originated from.

Owen and Hannah look at each other, then back at her. “Well, what is it you want to know?” Owen asks in return.

Jamie hesitates, pushing food around her plate. It’s frustrating to have her question answered with another question, but it’s also a valid inquiry. Jamie bought the damn place; what else could she possibly  _ not  _ know about it? But after years of existence as a grand mansion followed by years wasting away in disrepair and being known as “the haunted place” by locals, Jamie feels like there is so much room for things she has yet to know. 

It’s tempting to take another bite of this impossibly tender chicken and stuff her mouth with food instead of probing queries, but Jamie can’t help herself. She’s stuck with the house, and it’ll be her main focus for the next who-knows-how-many months. Since she can’t get the entire story from a convenient Wikipedia article, she might as well piece together whatever fragments she can gather. Jamie had one intense research session following her impulsive purchase, but the information she found was sparse. Maybe whatever Owen and Hannah can tell her will offer some clarity.

“I guess I should ask why it’s fallen into such a bad state,” Jamie finally says. “I mean, I know you two didn’t technically own the house, but wasn’t it still your... I dunno...  _ responsibility  _ to maintain it?”

Her question could come off as accusatory, and probably would have riled some people, but Hannah’s response is patient. “You bring up a good point,” she says, “so I think it’s only fair to admit that we accept the title of ‘caretakers’ in the loosest of terms. We’ve only been living here nine years, and the previous caretaker told us that with no permanent owner, our sole duty is to keep intruders off the property, and to occasionally check the house to flush out potential squatters.”

“Otherwise,” Owen supplies, “we’ve been doing our own thing. We have other jobs, other responsibilities. But we do care a good deal for— the house.”

Jamie picks up on the stumble in his speech; she frowns but doesn’t comment on it. “Okay, so who gave those instructions to the previous caretaker? The place has essentially been abandoned for over thirty years, right?”

“Yes, since the late eighties.” Owen takes an annoyingly long sip of his wine, then adds, “As for  _ who  _ the instructions come from...”

“— well, they’re very adamant that we continue to  _ follow  _ the instructions, so that’s what we will do,” Hannah explains.

The dent in Jamie’s brow deepens. She isn’t really getting anywhere with them, so she decides to throw in a dumb question that might appeal to Owen’s sense of humor: “And do you believe the house is haunted?”

Hannah chooses that moment to abruptly stand and start clearing the table even though Jamie isn’t finished eating yet. Meanwhile, Owen gazes at her for a moment, then flashes a grin under his thick mustache and replies, “Only if you  _ boo- _ lieve in ghosts, of course.”

* * *

Well, Jamie doesn’t believe in ghosts, nor in stupid rumors, so she decides she’ll be perfectly fine sleeping in the house overnight. At the very least, it is a good healthy distance from Owen’s atrocious puns, so Jamie uses that knowledge to help lull herself to sleep.

Several hours later, however, she still hasn’t caught a wink. Jamie stares up at a crack in the ceiling, suddenly  _ too  _ aware of the sheets twisted around her legs from tossing and turning. She is still strangely cold, although she has laid here for some time now. Despite some past girlfriends stating otherwise, Jamie knows she isn’t cold-blooded, so why her own body heat isn’t sufficient enough to warm the bed is beyond her.

_ Great, _ she thinks. The chances of another nice and early morning are dwindling by the minute. Jamie considers putting on her Go To Sleep, Damn It playlist, but something stops her, something like a worry that she’ll disturb someone by playing music. But it’s ridiculous, because who is there to bother here? Owen and Hannah are a mile away. Jamie is alone.

When another five minutes pass with no success, she rolls out of bed, shuffling down the drafty hallway in nothing but boxers and an old tank top. She chose the least shabby bedroom to sleep in, which happens to be on the first floor, so her walk to the kitchen is quick.

Except Jamie doesn’t make it all the way into the kitchen. She gets stuck in the doorway, frozen to the spot like invisible tree roots have reached up through the creaky floorboards and pinned down her feet. In front of her, just a few feet away, someone is standing at the stove.

“Uhh... hello?” Jamie doesn’t feel the words in her throat; she’s gone entirely numb. Probably because it’s freezing in here, odd for a house with little air circulation in the middle of summer.

She risks a step forward, but the figure doesn’t immediately turn at Jamie’s voice, instead channeling all their focus into their task at the counter. 

“Excuse me?” Jamie tries again. “Who are you? Wh— what are you doing here?”

“Oh!” The person startles as Jamie moves even closer. Now finer details come into focus: long blonde hair teased into a braid, a soft pink jumper, a breathy voice, all culminating into a lovely face when she turns around. Her beauty is thoughtful, courteous, like she doesn’t wish to remind anyone of it. “You scared me,” she says, her laugh whistling through Jamie’s ears like music. 

“What—” Jamie starts again, only to be interrupted.

“I- I’m sorry, I’ve been the worst hostess. I haven’t had guests in so long, so I was pretty shy, but...” She trails off, averting her eyes from Jamie’s and indicating the kettle on the stove. “Would you, um, like some tea? I was just about to bring you some. Do you take sugar in it? I’m afraid we’re out of milk...”

Jamie simply stares at her, dumbfounded. She tries rubbing her eyes, but when she blinks her vision into clarity, the young woman is still there and still blushing, acting as if  _ Jamie  _ is the intruder.

Pretending Jamie responded normally, her “hostess” shows an anxious smile and resumes preparing the tea, setting only one cup on a tray and getting out some sugar. These are items Jamie wasn’t aware were even in the house— though to be honest, she had only glanced into half of the vast amount of kitchen cabinets.

“I... I’m so confused,” Jamie mumbles, closing the remaining distance between herself and the kitchen island, which offers a solid enough barrier from the stranger. “They would’ve said if there was someone else here...” She swallows hard, trying to shake some sense into herself.  _ Obviously  _ Owen and Hannah would have said something, right? They acted a  _ little  _ peculiar, but Jamie trusted them... somewhat. So then she says, “A-ha, you’re a  _ squatter,  _ aren’t you? Listen, jig’s up. Get out. This is my property and I don’t take kindly to—”

“I know it’s your property,” the woman says, her voice gentle despite the harder connotation of her words. “But I’ve been here a while, so... I know how things are around here. No offense.” There’s a pause as she watches the kettle closely. “Any second now,” she murmurs, probably more to herself than to Jamie. Then she raises her voice again. “I should warn you, I’m not the best at tea, and I’m a little rusty at it. You seem, uh...  _ very  _ British, so I hope this doesn’t insult you.”

“I asked you to leave,” Jamie says, her voice unwavering. “It’s the middle of the night and I’m exhausted and I don’t feel like calling the police.” The stranger opens her mouth again, but Jamie adds firmly, “And I  _ don’t  _ want any bloody tea. What I want is for you to go.”

“Okay, I’ll leave you alone. I’m sorry.” The woman looks away, hugging herself as she retreats from the stove. Jamie can’t tear her eyes away from her face and the two blonde wisps that perfectly frame it. 

“Just bugger off,” Jamie sighs, jerking a thumb over her shoulder.

To her dismay, the stranger hesitates again, and damn it, how long does Jamie have to stare at a friendly face that she should hate? “Just— I’m sorry— can you watch the kettle? It’s almost done by now, so—”

_ “Whatever,”  _ Jamie says. She moves around the island toward the stove, still watching to make sure the woman actually exits. But then something extraordinary happens— rather than moving around the island as Jamie did, the stranger walks directly  _ through  _ it on her way to the door.

Jamie’s startled scream is smothered by the squeal of the tea kettle. Her legs act before her brain, launching her out of the room and out of the house completely. She doesn’t stop running until she reaches Owen and Hannah’s cottage, nearly knocking their door off its hinges with her pounding fists.

_ “Open up!”  _ she shrieks, breathless, between hits. “Open this door right now or I swear I’ll—”

The door swings open to reveal a drowsy Owen just putting on his glasses. Jamie stumbles forward at the loss of a solid surface to throw her weight against, but catches herself. She now puts all her energy into the fiercest glare she can muster. “You said the house wasn’t haunted,” she sputters, barely able to string her words in the correct order. “Well, I just saw a woman walk through something like she was made of air! How d’ya explain that?”

Owen fails to display any kind of satisfying reaction; instead, he twists around and yells into the dimness behind him, “She met Dani, hon!” 

“I met  _ who?” _ Jamie snaps.

He squints down at her, suppressing a yawn behind one hand. “I didn’t lie to you, by the way. The house isn’t haunted.”

“You said only if I believe in ghosts.”

“Mhmm. And do you?”

“No, but—”

“Then it’s not haunted, is it?” Owen shrugs. Jamie doesn’t even want to imagine the things she will do to this man, holy  _ shit.  _ But then,  _ finally,  _ Hannah appears, likely saving her husband’s life (and preventing the addition of another apparent fucking  _ ghost  _ to the grounds).

“I’m sorry you found out this way,” Hannah says, placing her hands on Owen’s shoulders and rubbing them. “We were going to explain it... eventually. I guess she got a little excited to meet you. But she means well. That’s why we wouldn’t say that the house is haunted.”

“And we wouldn’t call her a  _ ghost,  _ exactly,” Owen says.

Jamie presses a palm into her forehead. “Then what the hell is she? Casper the friendly  _ spirit?”  _ She wiggles her fingers mockingly in the air. 

To her amazement, Hannah is unfazed by Jamie’s venomous attitude. She merely smiles and replies, “She’s  _ Dani.  _ And that’s all.”

“Oh, for fock’s sake,” Jamie growls, starting to turn and storm away. “I’m getting out of here.”

For the entire walk back to the house, Jamie mulls over the weird events of the night. She lets them mull, in fact, until reality ages like a fine wine in her mind. Jamie has slept in many different places and many different beds— sometimes not even  _ actual _ beds. So who is she to care about a dead roommate? And why should a  _ minor _ haunting stop her from restoring the property she’s already sunk a considerable amount of money into? She can’t let a good investment go to waste. She’ll just work around the little... hiccup in her plans.

But then again, maybe it’s just her sleep-deprived brain trying to convince her to give in to a very,  _ very  _ bad idea.

Jamie re-enters the house, but only for a moment to grab her keys. Then she unlocks her truck, climbs in, and barely reclines the driver’s seat in time before sleep finally claims her.

* * *

The next morning, Jamie is woken by a tapping on the window. She blinks open her eyes and is met with blinding sunlight slicing through the truck’s windshield. With a groan and a stretch, she sits up and glares to her left to see who woke her up.

“G’morning!” Owen chirps, his voice muffled by the car window. He is acting weirdly cheerful considering Jamie nearly banged down his door at two in the morning. He then lifts his other hand to show an enormous platter of cookies covered in plastic wrap. “I brought you some biscuits I made yesterday. Thought maybe we should talk some more in the light of day.”

Seeing him reminds Jamie of where exactly she is, and what  _ actually  _ happened last night, if waking up with a cramped neck in the cab of her truck is any indication. She’s been on the property for barely twenty-four hours, and already everything has gone off the rails. Jamie does a quick sanity check, running through her mind to make sure she’s still on the same page with the frenzied, 2 AM version of herself, and yeah— this is all  _ definitely  _ still mental.

Jamie adjusts her seat and turns her key in the ignition. “Thank you, actually,” she says, clearing the sleep out of her throat, “for reminding me I need to get the fuck out of here.”

“No, Jamie, wait,” Owen yells, desperately pressing his palm to the window. “Please, just stay and hear me out. We— we don’t have to see eye-to-eye on the whole ghosts thing. But at least let me explain what I know.”

Jamie bites back a sharper reply, gripping the steering wheel but not shifting gears just yet. She lowers the window just a crack. “And what is it you know?” she demands. “That there’s a supposedly harmless ghost girl  _ living _ in the house that I want to refurbish for the next several months? Are there any other...  _ residents _ I should know about?”

Owen’s placating smile doesn’t do much to soothe her. “No. And I can promise you that Dani won’t get in your way. I mean, it  _ is  _ kind of hard for her to, but...”

It’s strange now, being able to put a name to the face Jamie saw in her kitchen last night. It shouldn’t make her feel better about this situation, having specific syllables to mold around those delicate, smiling features, and yet...

Without warning, Jamie throws open her door, nearly hitting Owen square in the face with it. He leaps aside, making room for her to climb down and grudgingly lead him toward the house. “Thank you for reconsidering. I’d really hate to see you throw away this opportunity just because of one  _ minor  _ thing,” Owen blathers on as they enter into the foyer, him nearly giddy with relief while she stays quiet, barely yielding in her distrust. 

“So what now?” Jamie asks. Curiosity urges her to take their meeting into the kitchen. Somehow, all the tea stuff from earlier has been put away, the antique kettle once again stored neatly next to the stove and everything else presumably stowed away in the cabinets.  _ How thoughtful of her,  _ Jamie muses dryly before turning back to face Owen. “How exactly does this work, then? Can she listen in on us whenever she wants? How do I know she’s not  _ possessing  _ you right this minute?”

Owen shrugs. “Maybe she is,” he quips. “I sure have been a lot less  _ punny  _ lately. Or maybe it’s just the seasonal depression setting in extra early.” 

Jamie blinks at him, unimpressed. “Can’t argue with that.”

He sighs, setting the cookie platter on the island. He leans onto the counter with his hands clasped, like he’s about to propose a major business deal to her. “Alright, so... as you know, me and Hannah have been here for many years now, and we’ve known Dani for nearly that long. She’s the kindest soul I’ve ever met— well, after my lovely wife, of course.”

“But what happened to her?” Jamie asks. “Why is she still...  _ here?”  _

“That’s not really my story to tell, I suppose,” Owen replies, and frustration sparks in Jamie’s gut. “And you’ll have trouble finding anything out through Google. The O’Mara family— they’re from Iowa, if I remember correctly, and they used to own this place a while back— they paid to have almost all the records of their involvement here erased... including Dani’s existence. So it really is only her who can explain it.”

Jamie hesitates, letting that information sink in. She absently grazes her fingers over the stove knobs, trying to remember which one Dani had miraculously turned last night to summon a flame under the tea kettle. It’s safe to assume, she thinks, that Dani likely died somewhere in this house. But how? And  _ when?  _ Jamie tries to illustrate the other young woman in her mind, but it seems like with every passing minute that Jamie doesn’t have her eyes on Dani, her face fades, drifting further into the recesses of Jamie’s recent memory. All she can picture are gold hoop earrings and that fuzzy blush-colored sweater.

“So she just... pops up whenever she likes?” asks Jamie.

“And hides whenever she wants,” Owen says. “But I have a feeling she’s been lonely for a while, and if she really likes you, you might be seeing a lot of her. I just have two pieces of advice for you.”

Finally Jamie returns his gaze, staring evenly at him across the counter. “What’s that?”

“Don’t drink her tea. Not poisonous or anything, it’s just not Brit-friendly  _ at all.  _ And try not to scare her.”

Jamie snorts. “You’re telling  _ me,  _ the living person, not to scare a  _ ghost?”  _

“I said what I said.” Owen grins at her, mustache curling up along with his mouth. “Now, I should be getting back to the cottage. Give me a ring if you need anything, and do return the platter when you come to supper next week. Because you are, right?”

Despite her innermost instincts still itching to ditch this place, Jamie decides not to keep him in suspense about it. “Yeah, I’ll be there,” she says, then sees him out.

* * *

Jamie can’t really describe the feeling of knowing there is someone else in the house with her, and having no idea  _ where _ she could possibly be. All she knows for sure is that she doesn’t particularly  _ like  _ it, but at the same time, this building is too damn  _ interesting  _ for her to resist sticking with her renovation plans. Jamie had spent all yesterday exploring with no disturbances, so she hopes for the same kind of thing today, because this time she’s taking extensive notes as she walks around.

She finds something odd on the second floor of the east wing. At the end of that hall is a landing connected to a rickety spiral staircase, and the entire contraption is insecure, as if it was never fully installed properly. Jamie only risks leaning half of her weight onto it, and when the aged metal structure groans in protest, she immediately jumps off. She furiously scribbles down her observation in her notepad, then takes out her phone and snaps a few photos, attaching a mental sticky note to her brain reminding her to take pictures from the first floor as well. She then stuffs the device back into her jeans pocket, the music playing from its speakers once again muffled by the layer of fabric.

“I wouldn’t stay near there for too long, if I were you,” a familiar voice pipes up. Jamie stiffens in surprise, whirling around to find the stranger now known as Dani standing at the opposite end of the corridor. “It’s not safe.”

Jamie gulps, the full force of the shock once again hitting her upon seeing Dani again. It’s incomprehensible, when she’s actually  _ looking  _ at Dani, how she can be a ghost. She looks so...  _ alive.  _ There’s a healthy blush in her cheeks, and a lively gleam in her eyes. Despite those factors, her expression is grave. “What?” Jamie rasps, then clears her throat, realizing she hasn’t spoken out loud in hours. “The— the staircase?”

Dani nods. “It’s a wicked thing.” She moves closer, her steps measured and normal. She doesn’t glide or float off the ground or anything. How can this be _real?_ Jamie notices now that her outfit has changed; her hair is down from the braid, falling in loose waves around her shoulders and hiding the flashy earrings. She wears a white graphic tee tucked into high-waisted jeans. Jamie doesn’t especially care one way or the other when it comes to fashion, but she vaguely recognizes the eighties look of it. The return of eighties fashion is, for once, a trend she’s been able to appreciate, weaving a few throwback outfits between her favorite oversized flannels. And thanks to the revival of eighties trends, Dani still very much looks like she could be standing here, alive, and from the twenty-first century.

“Yeah, I, ah, I noticed,” Jamie responds when she realizes she still hasn’t. She swipes at a loose curl and peers dubiously at the staircase. “I’ll probably just rip it out and start fresh, honestly. It’s all old and rusted now.”

Dani crosses her arms, staring at her feet for a moment. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“Eh, don’t sweat it.” Jamie tucks the pencil behind her ear and the notepad under her arm, burying her hands in her pockets. “I guess  _ I  _ technically walked in on  _ you, _ so...”

“I’m Dani.”

“Jamie.” Jamie automatically sticks out her hand to shake, but Dani doesn’t take it. She seems almost embarrassed when she speaks.

“I— I can’t touch you.”

Jamie’s brow furrows. Suspicion traces her thoughts back to the tea mishap, and how she had witnessed Dani lifting the kettle and turning the burner on. “How come? Because I’m not a teacup?” She smiles awkwardly, hoping to soothe with a lame attempt at humor. She isn’t sure why, but she feels a lot better when Dani is smiling.

Jamie succeeds in drawing a little giggle out of her that could also be a sniffle. “I can only hold things that I’ve really familiarized myself with,” Dani explains, vague as everyone else on this damn property. She tilts her head, hair sliding off her shoulder, and a chokehold of gay panic briefly seizes Jamie’s throat. No— no, that’s just the chill in the air. That’s all. “You’re not familiar to me yet.”

“Yeah, I’m afraid not,” Jamie says. Her phone chirps, and she pulls it out to check on it. Just a text from her brother. While she has it out, Jamie skips to the next song on her playlist.

She can feel Dani’s eyes on her (or maybe more on the phone), staring in wonder. “I like that song,” Dani murmurs. “It sounds so...” But she trails off, apparently unable to describe it.

“Probably different than what you’re used to,” Jamie chuckles. She’s fairly certain Benee wasn’t alive yet thirty years ago.

“True,” Dani laughs. “All the radio stations were playing when I— during my, um, my time, I mean...” She smooths her shirt, taking a second to gather the spilled words. “All they played was stuff like the  _ Dirty Dancing  _ song and ‘Walk Like an Egyptian.’”

Jamie nods, appreciative of the hint Dani just dropped. _Dirty Dancing_ places Dani’s “time” around 1987. That lines up with when this place was abandoned. Unsure what else to say, Jamie circles back to the concept that snagged most of her interest. “So you’ll have to explain something to me,” she says slowly. Her chest warms at the way Dani is looking at her, which makes zero sense because Dani is a _ghost—_ she should make the air around her _cold._ “If what Owen told me about your tea-making skills is true... is a tea set really _that_ familiar to you?” Dani beams in bashful amusement, and Jamie glows. _Warmth._ “Maybe you actually _shouldn’t_ be able to touch it.”

“Very funny,” Dani says. “So you’ve talked to Owen and Hannah, huh? I hope you like them, because I really do. They’ve kept me lots of company over the years.”

“They’re wonderful,” Jamie says honestly. “Weird, but a little weird never did no harm to anyone.” There’s a beat, as she spends one last moment wavering on the border between normal and whatever lies beyond that. Against her better judgment, Jamie takes the plunge. “So, what do you say? You can explain how the whole touch thing works, and maybe you’ll become more...  _ familiar  _ to me.”

There is an unintended double meaning behind her words, but there’s no room left for awkwardness. Dani just lifts her head and nods. “I’d like that.”

* * *

Denying her attraction to Dani is pointless. Jamie’s new companion is endlessly gorgeous, and way too kind to also be that gorgeous, because how can she possibly have an excess of both? But she does. There’s stars in her eyes and glitter in her hair, and Jamie adores all of her. She can’t believe she was so close to leaving this behind.

Jamie knows herself well. She isn’t usually quick to fall like this. But here she is, getting to know Dani, and Jamie quite likes what she is learning. She learns that Dani’s favorite color was— no, it doesn’t feel right to describe Dani in past tense—  _ is  _ violet, and that she is an only child, and that she is a mediocre cook just like Jamie, and only a marginally better baker. Jamie has the sole skill of being able to stir a pot, and she even tends to fail at that, so she introduces Dani to the magic of DoorDash delivery (even if she can’t actually participate in the eating part of it). And shit, maybe Jamie doesn’t even know herself as well as she thought she did.

Jamie still isn’t sure what led to Dani being here, stuck as a ghost in this old manor, but she minds not knowing less and less as the weeks pass. Since Dani can’t leave the house, Owen and Hannah come over often, and they choose whatever room isn’t currently under construction to have game nights and drink wine. Dani, it turns out, is surprisingly well-versed in modern pop culture.

One evening, Jamie returns to the house after a trip into town for supplies. She waits until the front door is securely shut behind her— who knows, maybe too much outside air and moonlight can suck ghosts into oblivion— and then calls out, “Dani?”

Dani materializes a few yards away, already doing her trademark speed-walk to meet Jamie in the foyer. “Hey,” Dani breathes, coming to a rather abrupt halt just before she can burst Jamie’s personal space bubble. But, Jamie realizes, she wouldn’t hate it if Dani got a little too close. If anything about this was normal, in fact, Dani probably would’ve hugged her just now—  _ no, no, that’s too much, _ Jamie scolds her wandering brain. 

Ten minutes later finds them lounging in Jamie’s designated bedroom together. Jamie is playing music from her phone because Dani always asks politely for it, but Jamie wishes Dani didn’t feel like she must be so polite to her. After all,  _ Jamie _ is the guest here, isn’t she?

“I don’t get it,” Jamie says suddenly as she lays on the bed, Dani perched on a chair in the corner.  _ “This was... well,  _ is _ my favorite room, so this chair knows my butt pretty well,”  _ Dani had explained to her between giggles.

“What?”

“Why are you okay with this?” Jamie motions toward the hall through the open door, where tarps, raw wood, and reno equipment are in full view. “Me changing everything about your home. Don’t you like when things are... y’know, familiar?”

Dani shrugs. “I had a good feeling about you. I didn’t think you would do the house wrong, but...” Her eyes flick away, skimming over the walls that Jamie has painted a fresh olive green. “I don’t have much of an attachment to it, anyway. It belonged to my...” Her sentence fades, drowned in waves of palpable discomfort.

Jamie props herself on her elbows, fixing intent eyes on her. “The O’Maras,” she says softly, speaking the family name that has been plaguing her for weeks since Owen mentioned it. She knows Dani wasn’t one of them, because her last name is different. “How did you know them?” 

Dani brushes hair behind her ear. Jamie wonders how it feels. “My best friend,” Dani says after a long pause. “He... his family owned the house. They were like my family, too.”

Jamie senses her malaise, so she adopts a lighter tone again and flips subjects. “I have to ask... do you still have a good feeling?”  _ About me? About whatever is happening here? _

She doesn’t have to elaborate; Dani knows what she’s asking about. “Yeah.” A smirk tugs the corners of Dani’s lips upward. “I do.”

* * *

In mid-August, Owen and Hannah’s godchildren visit from England. A precocious duo, Miles and Flora are well-versed in the lore of the manor, and they greet Dani like an old friend. Miles doesn’t speak much, preferring to spend his time wandering the grounds and taking a million pictures with his new iPhone camera. Flora, on the other hand, is glued to Dani and Jamie, clearly seeing them as role models like any average eight-year-old would. Jamie has never been overly fond of kids, not since she first lost her brothers, but Flora thoroughly charms her, quirks and all. 

Jamie would never admit this out loud, but she’s a little jealous of Flora’s close relationship with Dani. Yet at the same time, she’s glad to see that the girl brings Dani some joy. They spend hours watching videos on Flora’s laptop, and Flora has gotten Dani addicted to Snapchat filters. Somehow the filters actually work on her until the photo is snapped, and then she disappears in the picture, leaving behind the effects stretched over an invisible face.

“Jamie,” Flora chirps one day close to the end of the Wingrave kids’ two-week stay. She has managed to distract Dani with something on Netflix, leaving Jamie the victim to Flora’s unnervingly piercing stare. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, I reckon so,” Jamie grunts, impressed that she actually asked permission beforehand. She’s killing time with Dani and the kid during her lunch break; Jamie had spent the morning ripping up old carpet upstairs, and now she’s waiting for some guys from her team to get here so they can start knocking down an unnecessary wall in the dining room. The only room that’s truly safe to hang out in at the moment is Jamie’s, so that’s where they have been, and where Jamie has fielded a hundred other questions from Flora such as  _ “Have you ever been on HGTV?” (“Nah, I’m too sexy for television.”)  _ and  _ “Ooh, are you dating any of the construction men?” (“Flora, I’m gay.”)  _

Flora sits back against the wall, squinting carefully up at Jamie. “Don’t you have a brother who lives here? In America?”

At the edge of her vision, Jamie sees Dani peer over at them from where she’s settled in her favorite chair, the laptop sitting on the small table next to it. But whatever  _ Riverdale _ -like rubbish Flora put on for her has completely lost her interest now, and it’s no wonder, because Jamie’s visceral reaction to that question could be noticed within a ten-mile radius. 

She jerks up suddenly, back straight and shoulders hunched as she glares down at Flora. “How the he— how do you know that?”

The girl shrugs. “Everything’s on Google, of course. I was curious, so I looked you up.”

“I...” Jamie shakes her head. She takes a second to cool off, wiping sweaty strands of hair off her forehead. There’s no reason to drop-kick the kid out the nearest window. “Just keep googling, you’ll probably find the answer yourself,” she snaps. By some miracle she keeps her voice even enough, but Dani is already coming to the rescue, standing from her chair and smiling at Flora. Jamie wonders what Dani would do if she was able to touch the kid— maybe braid her hair for her, pat her shoulder, hug her hello and goodbye?

“Speaking of brothers, why don’t you go find yours? I bet Owen and Hannah want you guys back soon for lunchtime,” Dani suggests, speaking like she’s offering Flora a compromise. She crouches down in front of the girl and scrunches up her nose, some kind of private signal between them. 

And it works, the communication seamlessly linking with Flora’s brain. Flora giggles and scrunches her nose in return, then pounces up. “Okay!” she agrees, skipping out of the room.

Jamie slouches back against the pillows, squeezing her eyes shut. When she opens them a minute later, she finds Dani lingering at the side of the bed. She tries to meet Dani’s eyes, but the ghost looks away, fidgeting with her sweater sleeves. Dani has stated before that she’s usually pretty cold, but feels warmer when she’s around the living. Now Jamie realizes that she also understands that feeling. Dani certainly has the power to cool a room down (as spirits tend to do), but all Jamie knows is that there are searing flames licking her body whenever Dani gets near her. 

A fresh, sudden pang of grief hits her. It’s so  _ unfair,  _ for Dani to be frozen in age in her mid-twenties, while Jamie will only get older and older, until eventually she is the age Dani would now be if she were still alive. Jamie used to think it was strange, how she grieves for someone she never knew in life, but Dani is still here, imitating life against all odds, and Jamie thinks she knows Dani very well, dead and alive.

“I- I’m sorry,” Dani mumbles. All of the composure she demonstrated with Flora has dissolved. “I’ll leave you—”

“No,” Jamie says, “you don’t have to go.” Without thinking, she reaches out a hand to catch Dani’s sleeve, but of course her arm falls right through her image, briefly distorting her as if she is merely a projection, nothing more than a bundle of dust and light.

Dani must still feel  _ something,  _ though, because she turns around and stares at her with the deepest, bluest eyes Jamie has ever seen.

Silence falls over them like dead leaves, but Jamie soon blows it away. “You’re... you’re so good with kids, y’know.” She chuckles lamely. “Never been able to understand them, myself. Just don’t have the patience for it. Maybe someday that’ll change.”

Dani nods. “I think you have the heart to understand kids. Not everyone does.” She moves like she wants to sit down, but she doesn’t. Can’t. “I, um... I was a teacher.” A wistful smile grows on her face, her eyes gazing into memories Jamie can’t see. “I taught fourth grade at a small school in a small town. I miss it. And every summer when I see the Wingraves again, see that they’ve aged another year— it’s strange for me, because I was always used to meeting a new batch of children each year, and becoming irrelevant to my previous students, just a wave and a smile when I passed them in the hall. Because when you’re young and someone steps out of your life, I think you just... forget, and maybe you don’t  _ mean  _ to forget, but you do.”

Jamie listens attentively, unable to stop herself from imagining Dani Clayton thriving in life decades ago, when cars were boxy and music was just right. In another lifetime, Jamie would be able to hold Dani’s hand right now as she listens to her. Jamie thinks back to what Owen told her at the beginning of the summer:  _ “I can promise you that Dani won’t get in your way.”  _ But now Jamie  _ wants  _ Dani to get in her way, wants her to be real and solid and  _ alive.  _

“It’s nice to mean something to Miles and Flora,” Dani continues. “It’s nice to be relevant to them, and to  _ continue  _ being relevant year after year. But sometimes... Flora will tell me how she wishes she could hug me like she hugs Rebecca, their nanny back home. And I can’t. Or Miles will talk about how Rebecca takes them shopping, or to the park, and... and I can’t do that either.” At this point, her voice is so thin and brittle, it could snap with a single ragged breath. And that’s exactly what happens. Dani breaks into a sob that comes out strangled, as if she thinks she doesn’t even deserve to cry. Jamie curses the universe for making things this way.

“But— but I don’t get it,” Jamie says, frustration leaking into her words. “Why can’t you leave the house? And you’re  _ more than  _ familiar with Miles and Flora by now. Owen and Hannah, too. Why can’t you touch them?”

“It’s isolation,” Dani responds flatly. “I don’t know, maybe I was supposed to haunt, but I didn’t  _ want  _ to. Maybe if I never showed myself, messed around with mirrors, tried to  _ frighten  _ someone, I could’ve moved on by now. I can’t even be a good enough ghost, so I’m trapped. I can’t leave the house until I find the key out. But I’ve crawled through  _ every  _ window, opened  _ every  _ door, squeezed through  _ every  _ crack in the walls and ceilings, and nothing works. I’m trapped and I can’t touch any of the living, because that would make me less alone.”

Jamie wants to say something,  _ anything,  _ but she is at a loss. Dani has suffered this for nearly thirty-five years; how could Jamie popping up  _ now  _ in Dani’s afterlife make anything better? It only hurts worse, knowing that they could have been beautiful together had their lives aligned.  _ Fuck,  _ if only it was possible to have Dani in her arms. Jamie can’t just stand by and witness the struggle that takes place between a life cut short and the permanence of whatever comes next.

So Jamie decides that maybe all Dani needs now is plain, heartfelt  _ honesty.  _ Honesty has been the closest Jamie could get to comfort in the past; acknowledging the reality is better than being fed lies like candies: deceptively sweet, until the sour in the middle is exposed.

“Sometimes,” she says softly, “I really feel like I was born in the wrong time.”

Dani’s smile is unusually serene through her tears. “Yeah, but... we still met anyway, didn’t we?”

* * *

Jamie remembers Owen’s warning that it would be difficult to find anything about Dani or her death online, but she tries anyway. She spends hours swiping through her phone, hoping Dani isn’t looking over her shoulder while Jamie enters her name a million different ways into a million different search bars.  _ Dani Clayton. Danielle Clayton. Danielle Clayton obituary. Danielle Clayton obituary 1987. Danielle Clayton Massachusetts. Danielle Clayton O’Mara. Danielle Clayton O’Mara family. _

The search results give her nothing, and rightfully so. It isn’t Google’s story to tell either, apparently. It feels wrong for Jamie to try so hard to pry. She cares enough for Dani as she is; why should it matter how she died so long ago? Maybe, Jamie realizes, she just wants to know for sure that Dani didn’t suffer into death. That she wasn’t in pain, wasn’t alone. But only Dani herself will tell her.

So instead, Jamie digs into the O’Mara family, because their trail is still fairly traceable. These were the people, she thinks, who Dani should have haunted. She skims through some small articles, all of them dated from over ten years ago. An influential family with roots in the suburbs of Des Moines. Three sons, all of them long married. Jamie stares at their names: nothing more than pixels on a screen to her, but they had meant so much to Dani. She wonders which one Dani befriended. A thought flashes through Jamie’s mind like lightning, fine from a distance but worrisome when up close: maybe Dani was more than a friend to one of the O’Mara boys. There’s no reason to assume she was, but also no evidence to prove she wasn’t. 

But they’re gone now, moved away. And they left behind more of Dani than they realized.

An evening in early September sees Jamie hiking briskly to the caretakers’ cottage, bundled up in three flannels and a hat. Miles and Flora flew back home a couple weeks ago, and the weather has shifted quickly, as if it’s dismayed by the children’s absence. The newfound cold makes the mile to Owen and Hannah’s seem twice as long, and Jamie’s teeth are chattering by the time she reaches their door. She’s lived in New England for a few years now (and Old England before that), but something about the chill today is seeping deep into her bones.

She knocks on the door, despite having been told several times that she needn’t. Before she had left the manor to attend dinner, Jamie called out a goodbye to Dani, but she didn’t— or wouldn’t— show herself. Jamie had lingered for another five minutes, thinking that no goodbye could be good without seeing Dani first. When nothing happened, she settled on a simple  _ “bye”  _ to a cold, empty house, and then marched off in pursuit of Owen’s brisket, because that and some decent wine are the only factors persuading her to leave the house tonight.

Hannah opens the door, and without thinking, Jamie blurts out, “She didn’t appear when I called for her.” She didn’t intend on coming here to vent— quite the opposite, actually, she came here to temporarily  _ forget.  _ But here she is, being ushered into the warmly-lit cottage with Hannah’s arm over her shoulders, complaining about Dani like she means something more to Jamie than she is supposed to. And fuck, maybe she does.

“There are times when Dani just needs to escape for a while,” Hannah explains, urging Jamie into a seat at the table. “And she’ll do that the best way she can: by pretending she’s alone in that house again. Invisible to everyone but herself.”

Jamie deflates. Her vision becomes a watercolor painting; she can barely make out Owen tilting a wine bottle horizontally, and rich purple splashing into her glass. Dani should be here with them, she thinks. Eating and drinking and laughing at Owen’s jokes. It should be so different.

“But...” she begins, but Hannah’s gentle hand on her wrist silences her. Touch. How could Jamie have taken it for granted for so long?

“We know,” Hannah murmurs, and they start eating. The table is much more quiet tonight.

* * *

Jamie dreams of holding her. Dani presses into her: against a wall, into sheets. They dance through the kitchen, clumsy hands, stepping on each other’s feet. Jamie kisses her, soft and delirious. Dani’s hair slips through Jamie’s fingers like golden sand. Jamie dreams she doesn’t have to feel everything for both of them.

* * *

Jamie never thought she would be disappointed when a project runs ahead of schedule, but this time she is. Come October, there is a light coating of frost on the ground, and the house is nearly complete after four months.

She crunches over the grass, popping a piece of gum in her mouth. The basic landscaping necessities had been completed back in the warm months, but she always saves her very last finishing touches for the outside of the houses. Jamie considers the lawn and garden to be the most important part of a property; it’s often the first impression someone gets of a house, and helps them determine whether what is inside is worth viewing. Sometimes, though, Jamie wonders what it would be like to be dropped somewhere in the middle of the house first, and then to explore from the inside out.

After forty-five minutes of minor tweaks, the project is officially done. Jamie stands back and surveys her work, but there’s one opinion that is more important than hers. She turns and cuts back across the crisp lawn.

“Dani?” she yells, stepping inside the house and sliding off her coat.

“Up here.”

Jamie climbs the grand staircase and turns in the direction she heard her voice. It doesn’t take long to find Dani when she wants to be found; she’s at the end of the east hallway, where the unstable spiral staircase has been dismantled and removed. Dani’s back is to Jamie, her eyes fixed on a small window. It’s not difficult to guess what Dani is staring at through the frost-laced glass; Jamie knows what this side of the house faces.

“I hadn’t been in this hallway for years,” Dani says without turning around. Jamie slows her walk, watching her curiously. “Before you came here. But that day, I heard you, and I followed you, and I saw you get close to it... so I kept following.”

Jamie joins her at the window, leaning against the wall. Rather than admiring the restored garden outside, she admires Dani’s face. 

“I didn’t mean to die,” Dani goes on, and Jamie wonders if this remarkable human is seriously about to  _ apologize _ for  _ dying. _ But then, finally, Dani glances over at her, and it hits Jamie that she is ready, at long last, to share her story. “I guess that’s a given for most people, though. It— it was an accident. I’m sure you’ve already figured that out.” Dani takes a breath. “Eddie, he... he had been my friend for so long, so when he proposed, I thought it would be the best for both of us. He said as much. Neither of us... neither of us loved each other the way we were supposed to.”

Understanding sparks within Jamie. Things were different then, and expectations were high. Jamie thinks of Edmund, the O’Mara son who has been married to his husband for twenty years. She wonders if Dani knows he’s happy now.

“But we did love each other. And when we announced the engagement, his parents decided to send us here, so he could manage some of his family’s businesses on the east coast. This house had been in the family for nearly a century, so it only made sense for us to live here. But it needed renovations, and since I hadn’t found a teaching position here yet, I was at home all the time, helping where I could. And— and one day, I was standing on that spiral staircase, leaning over the railing with a feather duster, trying to reach a cobweb in the corner of the ceiling...”

“You fell,” Jamie exhales.

Dani looks down, but only for a moment. When she raises her eyes to Jamie’s again, she’s not shaking or crying. She’s the most solid she’s ever been. “It wasn’t secured yet, so I fell. And I never felt anything, not for the longest time. But then I tried with a few things. I started with a teacup, then the kettle, then a chair. Objects worked, but not people, never people. Flora would wave her arms through me— nothing. Owen would try to tickle me— nothing. But then you happened, Jamie.”

For an instant, the world stops turning. “What?” Jamie whispers.

“When you put your arm through me— do you remember that, back in the summer? I felt it.”

_ God,  _ Jamie wants to touch her— a loose thread on her shirt, even a strand of hair, she’d settle for anything. Instead she clasps her own hands together, as if one of them is Dani’s. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. But it’s different.” For the first time, Dani grins. “And I really like it.”

Jamie opens her mouth to ask more. There’s so much she wants to know.  _ How  _ did it feel? What does  _ really liking it  _ mean? And  _ why  _ has Dani completely and utterly taken over Jamie’s life?

But she doesn’t ask any of those things. Instead it’s Dani who shatters the silence again. “The garden looks more beautiful than I’ve ever seen it,” she tells her. “I remember being out there, my knees pressed into the dirt, trying to get something to grow— azaleas, I think. But I didn’t have much of a green thumb.” Her eyes slide back over to Jamie, her grin sharpening into a mischievous smirk. “Unlike you.”

“Well, I’m...” Jamie rocks back on her heels. “I’m glad you like it. Your opinion really does matter to me. I would’ve asked for your input beforehand, but... I kinda wanted to surprise you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve been watching over the process. I would’ve stopped you if it started looking bad,” Dani teases, and they both laugh. But then her face becomes grave, and Jamie’s chest stills. “Listen, before you go... I hope you’ll take a piece of advice with you... if that’s okay.”

Jamie lowers her head. She has an idea of where this is going. “Alright.”

“You should track down your little brother. Mikey, right?” At Jamie’s nod, Dani adds, “He deserves to know you, Jamie. You guys had a rough start, I know. But he lives near here, doesn’t he? You’re so close.”

Jamie closes her eyes, but it’s too late to prevent a drop from rolling down her cheek.

“You chose this house for a reason, didn’t you? To be so close to him, yet still far enough away, at your command.” Dani leans closer to her, and the inexorable chill that traces Jamie’s spine is masked by the fireworks in her chest. She tilts closer too, close enough to pretend their foreheads are touching. “Take the chance I didn’t get,” Dani whispers.  _ “Please.”  _

An hour later, Jamie is in her truck, and her finished project is in the rearview mirror. But it’s no longer a project, and it’s no longer just a house.

A week after that, the house sells. Jamie couldn’t care less about the profit made off of it.

* * *

When she sends Mikey a message on Facebook, Jamie doesn’t get her hopes up. But it’s hard not to get her hopes up when he replies just twenty minutes later, ecstatic to meet her. The next day, they meet in a cafe in the nearby town, and it is precisely what Jamie hoped for. She calls Denny, not caring that it’s late at night in London, and re-introduces him to their brother. The entire time, Jamie can’t help looking at the two other empty seats at their table, and thinking about who should be sitting there with them: one across the ocean, and the other just twenty minutes away.

By November, Jamie returns to her apartment in Vermont. Everything is cold and encased in dust, not unlike the house when she first walked through it. She has just boiled some pasta for a late dinner when her phone rings. Jamie hesitates before answering, brow slanted as she chews.

“Owen? Did you butt-dial by mistake?”

“Nope, I never dial with my butt, only with my fingers,” Owen replies, and Jamie snorts, the transition back into their camaraderie of the past few months seamless as ever.

“Hilarious. Okay then, what is it?”

“Well, it’s... I’m not sure how to explain it, really. It’s the strangest thing.” Owen pauses for so long, Jamie thinks for a second that the call disconnected.

“Is something wrong with the house? Or the new people? I can drive down there and—” Jamie is almost glad Owen interrupts her, because her own eagerness to return to the house so soon is...  _ alarming. _

“No, no, they’re lovely. But that’s just it, I suppose— they’re positively lovely, and have zero complaints. They... they’ve said they’re impressed how  _ warm _ the house is.” Owen’s words roll to a halt again, allowing Jamie to fill in the blank.

Jamie drops her fork, and it hits the rim of the plate with a  _ clang.  _ “She... she’s gone?”

“Truthfully, we haven’t seen her since you left,” Owen admits. “Something changed with her, Jamie. Maybe she moved on.”

“Yeah,” Jamie mumbles. “Maybe.”

“That’s all there is to say, so... well, I won’t keep you, I’m sure you’re busy as ever. Promise you’ll take care of yourself. And if you don’t visit us soon, then we’re visiting you!”

The faintest of smirks touches Jamie’s lips. She can’t keep everyone in her life, but at least she’s made lifelong friends out of Owen and Hannah. “Yeah, same to you. G’bye.”

After she hangs up, she finishes eating then dresses down for bed. Her mind is stuck in the conversation with Owen, however. If Dani moved on, where did she go?

Jamie settles in front of the TV, putting on some old black-and-white film she’s seen before. It doesn’t take long for her eyelids to grow heavy. But right when she’s on the edge of sleep, Jamie feels something brush her arm. It grazes her skin, then the touch becomes a hold, like a hand covering hers. Another gentle weight lands on her shoulder.

“Do you want company? If you don’t mind.”

It must be a dream.  _ Of course I don’t mind,  _ Jamie thinks, or maybe she says it out loud. She keeps her eyes closed, wanting to stay here as long as she can, with the voice she never thought she’d hear again, and the touch she never thought she’d get to experience. But then Jamie hears her name spoken delicately, a question, a plea. And she can’t deny that she’s still awake, and this is  _ real.  _

Jamie still hasn’t looked at her yet, but she already has waterfalls going down her cheeks. Her body shudders with sobs— relief, joy, wonder.  _ How?  _ When Jamie leans closer into those impossible hands, an explanation comes to her, like the most obvious landmark appearing in a field of mist. 

Her escape was never through windows or doors or cracks in walls. She found it in Jamie’s heart. She was with her from the second Jamie drove away down that gravel driveway. She’s with her. She’s  _ here. _

Finally, Jamie opens her eyes. “Dani?”


End file.
